While the forces of projectile
Vomit spray chunked particles
Of intent, sown in cautioned words,
Disregarded or seen as flexible,
Discontented perforated holes
Miss infrared tracking missiles
Locked on to no beginnings;
Guarded walls of inflexibility;
That hateful order.

Stained hands keeping
It in its trajectory,
Pretending to be blind
To the possibilities.